Journal of a mature, non-Olympic woman in the process of converting to cycling as a method of daily transportation. Dealing with weather and assorted perils; exploring equipment, psychological fortitude, and diet; experiencing our surroundings on a smaller, closer scale; saving gas & boycotting the car industry.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Pile of Bones Seen Lying Near Historic Tennis Club

I know I’ve said this before, but today breaks all previous records: Today was the worst weather I’ve ever ridden in.

Five minutes after I left home it started snowing, raining, sleeting and hailing and blowing all at the same time. In front of that old green tennis club I got the idea to dart under one of their gabled doorways and wiggle into my rain pants. Not seeing a curb-cut nearby, I chose a section at the corner where the sidewalk slanted low toward the street. Slowing way down and taking it head on, my bike hopped up there like a little mountain goat.

The back wheel wasn’t so lucky. For some reason -- maybe the weather, maybe the steel moulding that protects the curb from chipping -- the bike slipped out from under me and I landed in a heap of bones surrounded by my lunch, my thermos and my wet papers. Since I thought I had broken several parts of my body, I lay there for a few minutes, thinking. A woman jogged past me without a word. I guess she didn't want to mess up her target heart rate pace or something. An older woman stopped her car in the middle of the road and got out and invited me in to the club to recover and "rest up a bit." Nice of her to offer, but since everything seemed to be still working I merely used their roofed entryway to put my rain pants on and went along my soggy way.

After about a block I realized that already nothing hurt anymore. For the rest of my ride, large frozen snowflakes tried to frisbee their way through my face. I arrived at work with my shoes and socks drenched, my feet two blocks of ice, and muddy from my fall. It has become undisputably clear among my co-workers that I am the toughest one among them, including those twenty and thirty years behind me.

I made my usual pot of tea like I always do when I start my work day. No one noticed that today I put the teapot under my desk and curled my feel around it.

About Me

"She's no spring chicken," my mother would disclose mercilessly about women in their thirties trying to impersonate youth. Now, I'm even past the no-spring-chicken age. So don't think you have to be 12 to start riding a bike everywhere. I'm working out all the pesky details for you in case you want to do this yourself. But even if you never do it, you'll still know what it's like because I'm going to shrink you down to the size of a little rubber elf and glue you onto my handlebars. No changing your mind, no matter how much you beg me. So don't even start this unless you're sure you have the guts.
PS: My other bike is a broom.